That Seat's Saved
by moriartyisme
Summary: Against all odds, Dean has grown old and not died an incredibly painful death. On top of that, he has grown older with his brother and partner-in-world-saving. When Sam dies, however, Dean descends into near madness and this journal recounts his final few days on Earth, as told by a worker in Dean's retirement home.


**A/N: Well hello there my beauties! This is my first published fanfiction! This is based off a tumblr post written by improudsammy, though just loosely so. This is just a one-shot, but, as always, if you would like me to continue writing, or have any suggestions on something to write, let me know and I'll get on that! Enjoy! EDIT: I'm so sorry for the random html coding that happened here; I have no idea why and have manually taken it out. Sorry for inconveniencing you!**

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Patient Log #134: Dean Winchester  
Date: January 24

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Dean barely glanced up as I started to sit down but, as per usual, gave his brisk reply. "Sorry, that seat's saved for Sam." He was at the other end of the two-person table, but seemed to be in a whole different dimension.

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He had been saying this for years. Two years, to be precise. Well, one year and 245 days. Not that anyone was counting. The day before that his younger brother, Sam Winchester, passed on. There was nothing gory or unusual surrounding his death; it just happened. Old age. Better than most deaths these days. Dean had the look of a veteran, but when I searched him and his brother up on the internet nothing came up. And I mean _nothing_. No certification, credit cards, anything. The two brothers just existed in their own little void of themselves. When the two of them first arrived about four years ago, I could tell it was not of their own will. They always grumbled about getting "back to hunting" and how "Charlie was such a bitch". But they never went back to their beloved "hunting" (no weapons were allowed on the premises… anyways, there was no woods for miles around, so there would be no animals to shoot). But they were, for the most part, content. After a while, that is. They seemed to work well together, and didn't find any necessity in friending any others in the facility. They came to do what most seem to do, in the end. Die.

Not to say they had no friends. They just didn't have any in the facility. They had a few visitors. One man- whom they called Castiel- appeared to be in his 30's, and always wore a trench coat. He would stay and talk with the two for hours. He still came after Sam died, and was the only person who seemed to be able to break through Dean's hardened exterior. A couple others, including 'that bitch Charlie', came, though not as frequently. When Sam died, Dean didn't allow anyone to sit in the seat at the two-person table that had become habitual for Sam. Not even Castiel.

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I decided that day it would be best to pull up a different chair. "Dean" I spoke softly, reassuringly, "why do you always save that seat for your brother… He's _dead_ Dean. You need to let him go." I always started our one-way conversations like this. He never responded to me. Every other time I tried to speak with him, he just continued to stare out into God knows where. But, to my utter amazement, he spoke today.

"He _isn't_ dead. Just stuck. Maybe Heaven, maybe Hell, maybe even Purgatory, but he will come back, I _know_ it." Dean's wall between the real world and his own seemed to shatter right in front of my eyes. He stated his words as utter fact, but also whispered them, as if he was reassuring himself. I sat back, wondering how to continue. We never got this far.

"Dean, you need to accept he's dead and will never come back. It just doesn't work that way." My words seemed to resonate in him, and I could see a tear slowly crawl down his face.

"It… it has to. It _has_ worked for us. Too many times. Why should now… why should it be any different?" The sheer desperation and despair in his voice almost made _me_ tear up. I had no idea what he was talking about, but I could sense the truth in every word he spoke.

"Dean, I don't know. God works-"

"_THERE IS NO GODDAMN LORD AND SAVIOR. AT LEAST NOT ONE THAT GIVES A RAT'S ASS ABOUT ANY OF US. IF MY WORK HAS TAUGHT ME ANYTHING, IT'S THAT._" Dean's outburst silenced the entire room, but he didn't seem to care in the least. He didn't shout any longer, but instead turned to his only other form of despair: he started to cry. I had never seen him show this much emotion, not even at Sam's funeral. He looked at this point like a man who had a life's worth of pent up sorrows and miseries that hardly anyone could imagine. And at that moment, I realized why Sam was so important to him. Sam most likely went through the same things as Dean. They were closer than any other brothers I have observed, or may ever observe again. If I was certain about anything, it was that they had gone through hell, and that they were the only thing that kept each other together. Sure, Castiel and Charlie helped slow Dean's descent, but without Sam, Dean couldn't survive. He couldn't cope, and that is what I saw in front of me: a shattered man without his brother to help heal him.

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Dean died two days later, falling four days short of his 87th birthday. I write this log on his birthday, hoping to commemorate him in some way. Castiel was by his side, as was Charlie. I called them right after Dean's meltdown. I wish I could write down Dean Winchester's infamous last words, but I cannot since he died in his sleep, just like his brother. In his final moments, I could tell Dean was just waiting to be reunited with his brother again. I recall hearing Castiel murmur something along the lines of "I'll see you in a few, alright Dean? Sammy's fine, and I'll let him know you're coming. I promise Dean." Dean didn't respond but instead fell into his final slumber. There were few people at his funeral, which was held yesterday, but enough to show that he did impact numerous lives. I feel that he was one of those underappreciated men. Don't ask me how I know this, I just sensed it in the air around him. He would give everything he had to protect others, and wouldn't stop until all the evil in the world was gone. If only there were a million Sam and Dean Winchesters. I never expected Dean to get this stuck in my heart. He was a patient, nothing more. And yet, through his loss I felt loss. Through his sorrow I felt pain. But watching him in his final moments awake, surrounded by friends, I knew that he was okay, and suddenly, I was okay as well.

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**A/N: Thank you for sticking through this with me! I love you all so much! Again, let me know if you like this or want me to continue writing, I would _love_ to hear feedback (EDIT: let me know if I missed any weird coding... seriously, thank you so much for mentioning that) and if you liked it or whatnot. Don't be afraid! I love you guys! Have a wonderful day! **


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